In front of the Xinghe Welfare Institute, a group of people dressed in military uniforms stood straight, imposing an air of seriousness on the otherwise childlike, whimsical design of the building.  

At the forefront stood a tall, sharply-featured man with a commanding presence. His deep, ink-black eyes were set above a prominent nose, and the neatly tailored white military uniform he wore was adorned with colorful ribbons, symbolizing a status far above the ordinary.  

The man’s face was expressionless. Despite his naturally alluring almond-shaped eyes, there wasn’t a hint of frivolity about him. Instead, he exuded a dignified and steady presence that made people instinctively feel both awe and fear.

After standing at the entrance for a moment, two people rushed out from the courtyard. Leading the way was a short, plump man whose face glistened with sweat and who appeared highly nervous. The other person, who seemed to be his secretary, timidly hid behind him.  

“General Ji, hello, hello! We didn’t know you were coming; we’re so sorry for not greeting you properly earlier. I’m the director here—just call me Xiao Sun.”  

Ji Yuzhou glanced at the smiling man in front of him with mild disinterest, his gaze lingering for a couple of seconds before pulling away. He nodded slightly, offering a cold acknowledgment: “Hello.”  

At the start of the year, Ji Yuzhou had just been appointed as the commander of the Second Corps, making him the youngest corps commander in the Empire’s history.  

In the interstellar era, power reigned supreme. The entire planet was unified under one empire, with no more emperors or prime ministers. Instead, four corps governed different regions. Naturally, a newly appointed commander would need to inspect the areas under their jurisdiction, and this orphanage happened to be near Ji Yuzhou’s residence, making it his first stop.  

Stepping past the iron gates, the group entered the orphanage. The interior was slightly dated compared to the outer walls, but still acceptable. Upon entering, they were greeted by a large courtyard. In the center stood the Empire’s flag alongside the Second Corps’ flag. Scattered around the courtyard were various fitness equipment, presumably for the children’s extracurricular activities.  

Having cleared the area in preparation for Ji Yuzhou’s visit, the orphanage was eerily silent—so much so that not even birds could be heard.  

Ji Yuzhou nodded slightly, seeming satisfied with what he saw. Director Sun carefully observed his expression and finally let out a small breath of relief. “This is a public orphanage, and we receive annual funding. Thanks to the support of the Second Corps, the children here grow up happy and harmonious. They’re very grateful and always dream of serving the Empire someday…”  

Ji Yuzhou, having heard such flattery countless times, found it tedious. His brow furrowed, and before Director Sun could finish his speech, Ji Yuzhou strode forward with decisive steps, the sharp clack of his military boots echoing in the quiet air. Director Sun immediately shut his mouth and hurried to follow, hunching over slightly.  

Behind the courtyard stood a colorful teaching building. Beside it was a row of dilapidated houses. Noticing Ji Yuzhou’s gaze shifting toward the small houses, Director Sun quickly explained, “Those are abandoned dormitories. We haven’t had time to tear them down yet, but we’ve already scheduled it with the demolition team—they’ll be gone in a few days!”  

Ji Yuzhou gave a slight nod and shifted his attention elsewhere.  

The orphanage wasn’t very large. After another short walk, they reached the perimeter wall. Ji Yuzhou surveyed the area and was about to turn back when he suddenly heard faint rustling noises coming from the direction of the small houses. His hand instinctively moved toward his right hip, where he touched something cold and metallic. With a downward glance, he asked, “Is someone living in there?”  

Ji Yuzhou’s hearing was sharper than most, but Director Sun, unable to hear the noise, immediately denied it: “No, no one! The children haven’t lived there in ages. It’s a dangerous building; we wouldn’t dare let anyone go in!”  

Exchanging a glance with his deputy, Ji Yuzhou frowned. “Go check.”  

They walked about ten meters closer to the small houses, and the sounds became clearer—faint shouts and scuffling, mixed with boys’ curses like “Die!” and “Monster!” along with other harsh, degrading insults.  

Director Sun’s face turned as pale as a sheet. His round face, usually flushed, was now devoid of blood. Beads of sweat dripped down, mingling with the sheen of oil on his skin, making him look both pathetic and absurd. Ji Yuzhou shot him a brief glance, his face calm but his tone cold: “Care to explain?”  

Director Sun finally snapped out of his daze and began bowing repeatedly, apologizing profusely: “I’m sorry, General Ji, I’m so sorry! It’s my fault for not managing them properly. Kids don’t know better—they must’ve had a disagreement. I’ll deal with them right away. I’m so sorry…”  

Before Director Sun could finish his groveling, one of Ji Yuzhou’s bodyguards took two steps forward and kicked open the door of the room where the noise came from. Ji Yuzhou glanced at the trembling Director Sun, said nothing, and walked directly into the room.  

The room was in terrible condition. Spiderwebs hung from the walls, and there was no light. On the floor was a worn-out straw mat, on which two slightly older boys were sitting on top of a smaller child, punching and kicking him.  

The child, wearing a cap, had his face obscured, making it difficult to tell his gender. He looked about sixteen or seventeen, but his thin limbs were skeletal, more like sticks than flesh.

Despite hearing the door open, the two older boys didn’t even flinch. They merely stopped swearing but continued their assault. Their nonchalance suggested this behavior was commonplace, perhaps even tacitly condoned or encouraged.

Ji Yuzhou didn’t speak. The bodyguard standing nearby strode forward and pulled the two boys apart. At first, the boys didn’t realize what was happening. When they saw the group standing in the room, panic overtook them, and they quickly bowed their heads, standing perfectly still. Their faces bore obvious scratch marks.

Director Sun wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and hurried forward, grabbing one boy by the ear. “What did I just emphasize to you?! The Corps Commander is here, and you still dare to act out? I swear I’ll…”

Before Director Sun could finish, Ji Yuzhou motioned for him to stop. The director immediately fell silent, though his beady eyes still glared viciously at the two boys. Ji Yuzhou’s gaze shifted to the child lying on the ground. The child’s body trembled lightly, as if enduring significant pain.

With the weight of the two boys removed, Ji Yuzhou finally got a good look. The child was extremely thin, wearing tattered clothes that seemed to have been scavenged from somewhere. His skinny arms and legs were covered in bruises, making it hard to tell if they were from the cold or from beatings. The child’s face was completely hidden by a tightly secured hood, obscuring his features.

The child remained motionless, and Ji Yuzhou slowly withdrew his gaze. Bullying the weak was unfortunately not uncommon, especially in a chaotic welfare institution like this one. And with tacit approval from those in power… Ji Yuzhou glanced back at Director Sun.

Recalling the intelligence report on Director Sun’s questionable activities, Ji Yuzhou didn’t express anger. Instead, he turned and instructed his bodyguard, “Take this child to the hospital to treat his injuries.” He then gave a few stern reminders to the director to properly discipline the students, attempting to downplay the incident.

The bodyguard stepped forward to check on the child and tried to help him up. However, as soon as he reached out, the child recoiled violently, retreating into the space under a discarded desk, curling into a tight ball with his knees hugged to his chest.

For some reason, this action reminded Ji Yuzhou of a hedgehog he had once seen during a spring hunt.

Curious, he took a rare interest and stepped forward, his leather boots landing where the child had just been lying. He bent down slightly, looking at the trembling child. “We’re trying to help you,” he said.

The head hidden under the oversized hood moved slightly. It was hard to tell whether the child was nodding or shaking his head. A barely audible whisper emerged, and Ji Yuzhou caught the words: “Thank you.”

Despite the thanks, the child showed no intention of leaving his hiding spot. Instead, he retreated even further, pressing his back against the peeling wall, as if guarding a secret he couldn’t let anyone discover.

Director Sun finally snapped out of his daze and hurried over, smiling apologetically as he explained to Ji Yuzhou, “This child is very withdrawn and treats everyone like this. He’s naturally ungrateful. Please don’t take it personally, Commander. I’ll make sure to educate him properly later.”

Something in Director Sun’s words seemed to strike a nerve. The child shuddered violently, his red, raw hands reaching out to tug his hood even lower.

Ji Yuzhou had no intention of wasting his energy on someone unresponsive. His gaze no longer lingered on the trembling child. Instead, the director’s words piqued his interest, and he casually asked, “Ungrateful?”

“Yes, his eyes are… not like normal people’s,” Director Sun quickly replied. “You might even be startled if you saw them. He was born with abnormal eyes—blue ones. They’re very unsettling to look at.”

“What did you say?!”

Ji Yuzhou abruptly halted mid-step, spinning around to stare at the huddled child, his brows furrowing deeply. “Blue eyes?”

In the interstellar era, nearly everyone’s eyes were black. It was often said that eyes deviating from this norm were omens of misfortune. Director Sun, thinking he had offended Ji Yuzhou, stammered as he tried to explain. But before he could speak, Ji Yuzhou had already squatted down, forcibly pulling off the child’s ever-present hood.

The child had no place to hide. Flustered, he lowered his head, shutting his eyes tightly to avoid looking at Ji Yuzhou. But Ji Yuzhou had already seen them—those sapphire-blue eyes beneath trembling lashes.

The vivid blue of the child’s eyes didn’t seem menacing or eerie. Instead, they were pure and beautiful, like a sacred gemstone washed clean by the snowmelt of a distant mountain. They were even more breathtaking than the blue eyes Ji Yuzhou remembered from the past.

For a moment, Ji Yuzhou was transported to a different time, a bullet grazing past his ear and the cacophony of a crowd ringing in his ears…

Ji Yuzhou quickly snapped out of it, closing his eyes briefly. His fingers brushed against the child’s dirt-smudged face. Rising to his feet, he ordered his bodyguard, “Take him back with us.”

With Ji Yuzhou’s command, the bodyguard acted swiftly, moving the broken desk aside and half-lifting, half-dragging the child toward the door. Ji Yuzhou, standing nearby, added, “Be gentle.” The bodyguard softened his movements, nearly cradling the child as he carried him out.

Director Sun stood frozen, not daring to move a muscle. Once the bodyguard had left, he cautiously asked, “This child… is there something special about him?”

“Nothing special. I’m taking him with me,” Ji Yuzhou replied briefly, striding out of the dim room behind his bodyguard.